Chapter 111
To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.
(Ecclesiastes 3: 1-8)
If this were one of Nick’s entries, he’d tell you that these are lyrics from a song by The Byrds called “Turn! Turn! Turn!” But The Byrds were only borrowing words from the Bible. Still, the music lover in me couldn’t help but hum as I wrote them down. Nick would appreciate that.
I can’t believe it’s been almost a decade since that day, when I chose this verse to recite by my daughters’ deathbeds. I regret that I never got the chance to give them a proper goodbye. Still, the words ring true. There is a time and a purpose for everything. I know that now. We’ve faced some hard times here, but life is finally starting to get easier. The bad times are falling farther behind us, and the good times are only beginning. We’ve been through a war and lived to tell the tale. Now, God willing, we can finally enjoy our time of peace.
Wednesday, April 13, 2022
Ten years after Infernal Friday
As the anniversary dawned, the former Reverend Brian Littrell stood at the fence before his field and said to himself, “God is good.”
The only response came from a nearby flock of birds, who chirped their gratitude as they swooped down to grab their breakfast. He smiled as a robin landed on the fencepost, remembering what his wife had once told him: seeing a robin was a sign of spring.
Though they didn’t have much in the way of seasons in Florida, it did feel like spring. The sky was blue, and all the leaves were green. The sun was as warm as a baked potato, but the air was still cool. A gentle breeze fluttered over the field, creating a wavelike ripple effect that made it look more like a sea of greens.
The fat robin fluttered to the ground on the other side of the fence. It stuck its face right into the rich soil at the edge of the field and rooted around until it emerged with the end of an earthworm clamped firmly in its beak. Brian watched the ensuing struggle, as the worm wriggled wildly, trying to get away. But in the end, the bird won, taking flight again with the worm still in its mouth. The circle of life goes on, thought Brian, as the bird disappeared between the branches of a towering oak tree. He wondered if it was going to use the worm to feed its young. To every thing there is a season… a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted. With a smile on his face and the familiar verse running through his head, he stepped into the field.
The sun was still low in the sky when Brian set out to harvest his latest crops. The dew-soaked leaves brushed his bare ankles as he bent down to pick cucumbers and pull carrots out of the ground. His basket was heaping with vegetables before the sun had even risen above the bay.
As he moved on to check the spinach plants, Brian became aware of a pair of footsteps behind him. The sound of that shuffling, uneven gait was familiar…
He spun around, unsurprised to see AJ limping toward him. “Look!” the other man exclaimed, holding up his bucket. “Blueberries!”
Brian looked inside, admiring the bounty of freshly-picked berries. “Wow… I bet there’s enough for Gretch to make us some blueberry cobbler for dessert tonight. You did good, bro!”
“Thanks.” AJ smiled, but even after all these years, he still seemed reluctant to accept a compliment. “So how’s the spinach looking?” he asked, quickly changing the subject.
“Some of it’s starting to wilt,” said Brian, rubbing a spinach leaf between his thumb and forefinger, “but I think we’ll still be able to get enough for a good salad with dinner. We should pick the last of the strawberries to go with it.”
AJ nodded. “Sounds good. I was thinking I might try to make some dye out of the rotten ones that we don’t wanna eat. The blueberries, too, eventually. We could use it for clothes or ink or paint or whatever. Wouldn’t Evie look pretty in a new blue dress?”
Brian smiled at the mention of his daughter. “You bet. And Asha would look beautiful in a red one.”
AJ’s dark brown eyes brightened. “Yeah, and all the little ones would love to finger paint.”
Brian nodded, chuckling to himself. Who would have thought that the tattooed former addict would turn out to be such a softie?
“What’s so funny?” AJ asked.
“Nothin’. Just thinking… Ten years ago, would you have ever expected to be here, talking about making finger paint and pretty dresses for our little girls?” Brian grinned. “I think you’re goin’ soft on me, McLean.”
“Never,” scoffed AJ. “Did I mention they’ll be finger-painting abstract, post-apocalyptic murals, and that Asha’s red dress will have a big black skull on the front?”
“Oh, no, you failed to mention that,” Brian played along, although he was pretty sure AJ was kidding. Then again, he never did know what to expect from AJ. Sometimes, the zombie-sniper-turned-archery-enthusiast still surprised him. “You goin’ hunting after this?” he asked, noticing the arrows sticking out of AJ’s back pocket.
“Yeah, thought I’d try to bag us something good for the big dinner tonight. I don’t know about you, but I’m getting sick of chicken.”
Brian shrugged. “At least we have fresh poultry. And fresh produce,” he added, looking down at their harvest. They could never eat so many cucumbers, but Gretchen would be able to pickle some for the winter. With all the women getting pregnant, Lord knew they needed pickles.
“Yeah, beats that canned shit we used to survive on,” AJ agreed.
They strolled along what had once been a runway, looking at the crops they’d planted on the patches of flat land that stretched between the strips of pavement. Potatoes were planted in neat rows on one side, sweet corn on the other. They would never go hungry again, so long as they continued to take advantage of the long growing season. The little garden Brian had planted with Gretchen so long ago had grown into a full-fledged farm, complete with a chicken coop and dairy cows to give them eggs and milk, from which they could make butter, cheese, and everything in between. Finally, they were self-sufficient, no longer dependent on the dwindling supplies left behind by a civilization that was long dead. Brian had taken the lead in learning everything he could about farming, but everyone helped. The men took turns helping him harvest the fields, while the women and children tended to the animals. Everyone contributed something.
“What’s that over there?” AJ suddenly stopped and pointed. Brian’s eyes followed his finger’s trajectory into the cornfield, where a familiar shape was silhouetted against the early morning sky. Rather than standing up straight, the humanistic form had a distinct slouch. Its broad shoulders slumped, and its head lolled to the side. Brian could see why AJ sounded worried.
“Why don’t you go check it out?” he replied, trying to hide his smile.
AJ gave him an uncertain look, but shrugged and set off into the field, cutting a path through the corn. Brian followed a few feet behind. When they got to the middle of the field, he heard AJ let out a loud guffaw. “Oh my god, that’s fucking great! Who came up with that?”
Brian grinned. “I’ll give you three guesses, but you’ll only need one.”
“It had to be Nick’s idea, right?”
“Of course it was Nick. Riley made the clothes for it, but he stuffed the thing and painted the face. We just put it up yesterday.”
They both looked up in admiration at Nick’s handiwork. The scarecrow wore a red suit with black trim, two diagonal black stripes forming a V shape down the front of the jacket. Its hair was made from curly wisps of blackened corn silk sticking out of the top of its burlap head. The face was painted green, with big, bulging eyes. Nick had even used some black around the eyes and under the cheeks to give it a gaunt, hollowed-out look.
“A zombie scarecrow just wasn’t enough, huh?” said AJ, laughing. “It had to be Michael Jackson.”
“He thought it would really ‘thrill’ the birds,” Brian joked.
AJ snorted. “If it only had some braaaaaainsss…”
They both laughed as they walked back to the path, where they’d left their produce. Then, with the sun on their shoulders, they picked up their baskets and headed back toward the houses, where the rest of the base was just waking up.
